


Budapest

by Deyaniera



Series: Partners for Life [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-07-12 13:50:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19947202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deyaniera/pseuds/Deyaniera
Summary: Clint Barton saved Natasha from a bad end.  Now, how will she return the favor?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rather ambitious fic I've been putting off for years. Basically, since I saw Ultron. I hope I can live up to the tale in my head. 
> 
> Content warnings in general will be movie-esque violence, explicit M/F sex (eventually), and probably kink.

Clint drummed his fingers on his thigh. He wished, again, that Fury would have let him pilot the plane. He hated waiting, and this was torture. He shifted position again, his heel bouncing this time in a new rhythm.

Natasha cracked one eye open. “Really, Clint.”

“Do you know how much longer it’ll be?”

“Before I paint the walls of this plane with your blood?”

Clint laughed, then eyed her. She didn’t look angry, but she definitely wasn’t amused. “Sorry, Tash.”

Tasha waved a hand, brushing aside his apology. “This seems like more than your usual impatience. What’s up?”

Clint had worked with Tasha long enough now to hear the real question beneath the casual one. Was he okay for this? He wondered. He hadn’t expected to be so concerned about her first mission working with Fury. He’d worked with Fury before, he knew the other man was a rock. But Tasha…did she trust Fury like she trusted him? Would she rely on Fury in those moments, those life-and-death moments that could pass in a blink? And what about Coulson? Coulson was going to be their go-between, and could he trust the other man? He realized, at that moment, what was really bugging him. He resented Fury and Coulson tagging along when this sounded like an in-and-out that he and Tash could handle on their own. He lifted a shoulder at Tash. “Just wondering why all the pomp and circumstance. We could have gotten ourselves there with less fanfare, ya know?”

“You think this is more than what they’ve told us,” Tasha turned her shoulders to him, facing him fully. She bit her lip, and Clint tried very hard not to get distracted by other thoughts. 

“An in-and-out contact mission does not require level…shit, whatever the fuck Fury is these days. Hell, Tash, it barely requires us.” Clint leaned back in the jump seat, wrapping one arm in the webbing above his head. He tapped on the fabric, letting the vibrations soothe his inner turmoil quietly.

“Fury said we might have to extract the target.”

“Yeah, and we’ve done that before successfully, just you and I. What’s Coulson doing here? Why’s Fury insisting he be the ground game? Why do we need a ground game?” Clint shook his head, releasing the rope and leaning forward. “I’ve been in enough of these situations, there’s something more going on.”

“You think Fury’s testing you again? Or testing me?”

Clint shook his head. “No telling. But keep your eyes open and tell me if you get one of your feelings.”

“Of course,” Tasha replied. 

Clint thought, again, that his choice to spare her was the right one. He’d made mistakes before, had regrets from the field, but that was one he didn’t regret. He only worried about what he didn’t know: Fury had taken Tasha out on a mission, solo, and neither one of them would talk about what had gone down. Fury would only say that Tasha had passed. Tasha would only say that Fury was a force of nature and she was glad he was on their side. Clint thought that both went without saying. Fury had been his boss since the mission before he’d found Tasha, and he was the best boss so far. Tasha had been his partner since she’d cleared SHIELD’s testing, and she was the best so far. 

Clint tugged at his finger tabs, settling them. He flexed his hand, feeling the comfortable and familiar stretch of the leather. He tested the pull on his bow again, then checked his arrows. Tasha was testing out a few new things, including something that Fury called “stingers.” He’d also given Clint a few new arrows. Clint had requested the flash arrows, but he now also had a few exploding ones, and he was looking forward to testing those out if given the opportunity. 

Of course, they were also supposed to be setting up cover stories for a slightly longer-term stay. They’d have to get through a few potentially dangerous areas first, and then hit a strategic location to take out a target and clear a path for another team. Clint glanced over the maps, then tucked them away. He checked his pack, making sure the huge pile of forints that Fury had given them was safe. They’d have to buy clothes, find lodging… And he’d have to pretend he was more deaf than he actually was. He waved a hand, getting Tasha’s attention, and then signed. 

_You’re sure you’ll be able to do this?_

Tasha sighed. _Yes, Clint. I can definitely understand and communicate with you this way._

“I just want to make sure,” he said aloud, signing at the same time. He needed the practice, too, after all. It had been a while since SHIELD had successfully repaired the damage he’d suffered. He only had a few episodes of tinnitus these days, versus the near-full hearing loss he’d had. It’s easy to get rusty, after all.

_For you, maybe. I had to be proficient and fluent in whatever language they threw at me or I’d pay._

Clint’s attention sharpened. Tasha didn’t usually talk about her history. _How many languages do you speak?_

_I don’t know. Not all of them, but enough._

_How’d you learn ASL? Isn’t there a European version or something?_

Natasha laughed. _There are hundreds. I learned ASL after a mission where I nearly died because my target was able to communicate without me understanding him. It seemed a hole I could plug easily. Languages aren’t hard once you know how to learn them._

Clint didn’t believe that, but he decided not to press that point. He switched to speaking aloud, but kept signing as he spoke. “So, you will be our voice this time around. You up on your Hungarian?”

“Yes,” Tasha said. _And German and Polish, just in case._ “Some of them may even speak Russian.” 

Clint nodded, but before he could ask anything else, the speaker crackled to life. 

“Head’s up, agents. ETA is five to the landing area,” Coulson said. “Get hot.”

Clint turned on his headset and then began to shrug into his parachute. “Yes sir. Agent Barton ready for duty.” 

Across from him, Tasha was doing the same. “Agent Romanoff ready for duty.”

Fury’s voice this time. “I’ll be dropping with you. We’ll split off when we hit the ground. Meet at the House of Terror in five days at noon local time. Changes will be relayed to you via Coulson, if necessary. You don’t hear, you make the meeting.” 

“Yes sir,” both Clint and Tasha murmured, checking each other’s gear for readiness. And then they were dropping into the darkness, the exhilaration of flight mingling with the horror of falling. Clint breathed in the wind, loving this moment. His night-vision goggles protected his eyes and allowed him to see the landing area below. He popped his chute and then the ground was rushing up to meet him. He landed, the shock of impact and gravity a familiar sensation. And then he was running, trying to avoid the chute swallowing him whole. 

Clint failed, as usual, but that was just fodder for him to try again next time. He swept the chute up, wrapping it until he found the edges, and then stripping out of the harness. The whole mess went into a bag which he then hooked to his tactical bag. He scanned the area. Tasha and Fury were standing close. He thought they were speaking, but he couldn’t be positive. And then Fury was off, his long legs carrying him away deceptively fast. 

“Tasha,” Clint murmured into the headphones. He heard the ‘pssht’ as she turned hers back on, and knew he was being kept out of some loop. It rankled.

“Here,” she replied. “Compass says we need to go east.”

“Then let’s go.”

They moved as one, cutting through the darkness easily. They encountered a few wanderers, but nothing big until they approached their first target. The building looked like any other old castle, but it held secrets and people they needed to find. The earpiece transmitted Tasha’s voice easily.

“Two guards on each side. Left or right?” She barely spoke, yet he could hear her perfectly.

“Left.”

With a nod, Tasha slipped along the brush line to get a better bead on her target. As ever, Clint felt the stab of…not-quite-guilt, but knowing he’d be racking up more red. He’d be glad when the icers were more reliable. Tasha murmured ‘go,’ and Clint’s arrow was off, taking his target in the eye. Tasha’s fell shortly after, and then they were over the tall, wrought-iron fence as easily as if it were chain-link. They moved through the open courtyard to hide behind a building converted from an old stable into a garage. And then Tasha’s voice slid into his ear again.

“Your target is third floor, second room on the left. Mine is the computer room, subbasement two—”

“Wait, what?”

“Plans change. Roll with it. Go, get your target, be invisible. I’ll meet you back here—”

“Tash—”

“Go. Fury’s orders!”

And with that, she was off, slipping between shadows to the back entrance. Clint followed, grinding his teeth with the effort not to protest, to keep the mission moving. As he turned to go upstairs, he muttered into his headset, unable to stay completely quiet. “We will discuss this later." There was no reply. Clint hadn’t expected one, but he was still grumpy. He stayed against the outer wall, peering around corners as he headed for the staircase and made his way up to the third floor. His target was a higher-level bureaucrat who was actually a double agent. Tasha had outed him using some of her old contacts. And now, Clint was going to take him out.

Except, when he peered around the door it wasn’t the right target. Fuck. He retreated, checking the other rooms. No target. He slipped outside, up onto the roof, crouching amid the shadows and gargoyles, scanning the area. “Tasha, problem. My target isn’t here.”

“One sec,” she replied. “Let me finish here and I’ll find surveillance.”

Clint double checked the area making sure he’d be safe on the roof. No, sadly, there was a watch tower. He ducked behind a parapet and sighed. Bad intel? Had their target gotten wind of them? Shouldn’t have, but…

An explosion, followed quickly by an alarm, and Clint dropped from the roof down to hide behind an ornate topiary. “Tasha, what the fuck?”

“Ten six two, Hawkeye,” Tasha replied.

Clint was at the door she’d vanished through, heading into the subbasement before he even thought about it. Ten six two was SHIELD code for ‘get the fuck out, it’s hopeless.’ But Clint wasn’t going to leave Tasha. He killed three men in the stairwell, leaving their bloody bodies as he hit the door to the room where Tash had to be pinned down. Fluorescent lights made him lift his goggles so he could see more clearly. In the flickering lighting, things didn’t look good. He realized immediately why she’d said the hopeless code. There were at least a dozen heavily armed and armored men between him and the only other doorway. They crowded the desk-filled room, making movement almost impossible. 

Still, Clint had to assume Tasha was here, back through that other doorway. He didn’t see her body, didn’t see any sign of her being captured. He wasn’t about to leave her. The alarm was still blaring, which was both good and bad. The sound would keep people from communicating, but it also meant he was likely going to get cut off by reinforcements at some point. Oh well, no time like the present to even the odds.

Clint slipped into the room, staying low, plotting a route. Two rearguard, he thought he could take them out first and move on. If he was lucky, he could even possibly take them out silently. Just as he thought it, another explosion and the lights went out. The alarm beeped, then also fell silent. He pulled his goggles back down and headed for his first target. 

Clint fell into an odd state, between hyper-focus and muscle memory. One swift slice into the achilles, keep the hand moving and slice up behind the knee, pull back as they fall and end with the knife in the neck. The second man, same pattern, but this one manages a yell of pain and fear in the darkness. Still, success: he falls to the floor, drowning in his own blood. 

Clint moved on, quickly, taking out targets three and four. They both turned at the yell but fell as quickly to Clint’s blade. Unfortunately, target four was a bad angle, and blood spurted onto his hand. He didn’t trust his grip, but he had to keep moving. He tossed his knife into his other hand, hearing voices and yelling from the stairwell as well as in front of him. And then, he saw Tasha sneaking from the doorway into the room. The silence was broken by babbling Clint couldn’t understand, but he was familiar enough with the way that military talk sounded to recognize it as soldiers attempting to regroup. He hid behind a desk, peering out to verify the remaining opposition.

Clint’s remaining targets were swinging their guns, forming a vague arc facing both doorways. Four on the outside, four on the inside against the wall. Smart, well-trained bad guys, Clint thought with regret and adrenaline-fueled joy at the challenge. He picked another, the closest to the wall, stabbing him in the leg. The enemy swung his gun, and Clint slapped the stock away from his face and stabbed the man in the neck. Then he ducked back behind a nearby desk as the enemy slid down the wall, dying.

As Clint had expected, the remaining seven all turned in his direction, guns up and eyes scanning. He saw the one farthest away falter, heard him yell something. A tremble skimmed through the group, one man barking commands Clint could not understand while the others milled about. Their careful military formation was gone, but it wasn’t each for themselves yet. 

Clint wanted more chaos. He wiped his knife on his black cargo pants and sheathed it, then pulled out several throwing knives. Swiftly, without thought, he flicked one at the yelling man. Then a second and third at the men behind him. One, two, three they fell with knives quivering in their throats; Clint’s accuracy had not failed him yet. Tasha killed another, and then there was a stream of men coming from the doorway. He and Tasha regrouped, standing close. This would be a test, but… 

“I told you to get out,” Tasha muttered. 

“Isn’t this more fun, though?” Clint replied with false cheerfulness. Tasha rolled her eyes at him, and then the stream of attackers was on them. Clint and Tasha killed them all, clearing the stairwell with ruthless efficiency. And then they were in the yard again, this time heading for the fence. 

“I didn’t get my target,” Clint muttered as they scaled the fence.

“Don’t worry. I got enough data for us both,” Tasha replied, landing lightly and then leading the way to the nearby forest for cover. “I couldn’t read deeply, but it looks like Deacon was moved last week.”

“Last week? When we were finalizing this?” Clint turned to Tasha once they were in the forest. He was rather pleased that he wasn’t breathing hard after all that. He knew that would change when the adrenaline wore off, but for now, he blew out a breath and focused on the issue at hand. “That could mean—”

“A mole. Fury has thought it likely.”

“And you’re telling me this…why? What makes you think it’s not me?”

“Fury doesn’t think it’s you,” Natasha replied flippantly. “And even if he did, I know better.”

Clint eyed her skeptically, shrugging out of his backpack to check that it was all in one piece. The tactical webbing was tough, but he knew that he’d gotten hit at least twice. Thankfully, after a thorough check it looked like nothing was damaged irreparably. He shifted a few things to avoid strain on the torn part until he could fix it, and repacked. “So, what makes you the expert on my loyalties?”

“I know where you were Saturday night.”

Oh. _Oh._ Clint tried not to think about it too much. But yeah, that would make sense. Then he realized. “Wait. Fury doesn’t? Tash—”

“Not yet; not unless I decide it’s necessary,” Tasha also shrugged out of her backpack, checking it for damage and then pulling out a bottle of water. She took a deep swig and then passed the bottle to Clint. 

“I take it that’s a warning.” Clint took a drink, then fiddled with the cap, watching Tasha resettle the contents of her bag. “You know I won’t say anything.”

“I never thought you would.” Tasha stood up, hooking the bag over one shoulder. “Come on. We need to find a place to clean up, then lodging.”

Clint hefted his bag, shoved the water into a cargo pocket, and stepped closer to Tasha. “Tash,” he said softly. She glanced at him, grinned and shook her head. “You don’t have to protect me.”

“It’s not you I’m protecting.”

“You sure?” Clint cupped her face with one hand, his thumb caressing her cheek. “Because I know what you put in that last report.”

Tasha unbent enough to press her forehead against his, her fingers hooking into his belt and pulling him closer. “What’s wrong with telling the truth?”

Clint chuckled, and kissed her. It was lighter than he wanted, but he hoped it would get the point across. “I screwed up the landing. Me. Not you.”

“I’m still learning how to pilot; you were compensating for me,” Tasha replied, and then kissed him, quick and hard. “Now, shut up and let’s go. We have a ways to walk, and I’m already tired.”

Clint grinned, but shut up. For now.


	2. Shower time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Tasha arrive at the hotel and clean up.
> 
> CW: explicit m/f sex

Clint and Natasha found the hotel that Coulson had told them about just before dawn. They were cold and tired, but they’d be able to sleep soon. Clint would take it. The door was slightly open, as they’d requested, and the pair hustled in. Coulson had booked adjoining rooms, and the door between the rooms was open. Tasha had lost the last game of rock-paper-scissors, so she headed through to report to Coulson, while Clint began stripping and headed for the shower.

Nat was waiting when he got out, and the door between the rooms was closed. Clint scrubbed his damp hair with a towel, then lifted an eyebrow at her. “Any news worth sharing?”

“Coulson says to keep it down in here if we decide to engage in ‘extracurricular activity,’” she said wryly. “And that there’s a bar around the corner looking for a piano player.”

“Coulson is a busybody,” Clint said loudly next to the door between the rooms. To his annoyance, there was no reply. Though that didn’t really surprise him. Coulson was almost as unflappable as Fury. Almost. “The bar interested in a singer?”

“Coulson said that all he saw was an ad in the window. Bar was closed when he got here.”

“Oh, well, shit. He didn’t get here much before us, then.”

“No,” Tasha replied, finally standing up and starting to strip. Clint tried not to be obvious about his ogling, but Tasha caught his eye and smirked at him anyway. “He said he booked the room for tomorrow night, too, so we can sleep in.” Clint made a noise of agreement but was distracted from any real reply by Tasha peeling herself out of her catsuit. He made a strangled noise, then cleared his throat, but still couldn’t remember what he’d been planning to say. Tasha chuckled softly. “It never fails,” she said, and stroked her fingertips lightly across his chest as she walked by. 

Clint grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop. She was still smirking when he kissed her. She kissed him back, sliding her hands into his hair, fingernails lightly scratching as she pulled her hands back down. Clint hummed in pleasure as he slid his hands up her waist to cup her breasts. He thumbed her nipples into hardness as Tasha wrapped one leg around his. He pulled one hand away to whip the towel he’d had around his waist to the floor, so Tasha could grind herself against his cock.

They kissed, and Tasha slid one hand between them to grasp Clint’s cock, stroking him to pulsing hardness. He pulled back from the kiss to gasp “Tasha, wait.”

She chuckled and released him, grabbing one hand and pulling him to the bathroom. “I still need a shower.”

Clint didn’t protest, letting her drag him back into the shower. She pushed him against the tile and kissed him again, and then somehow managed to turn the water on. He gave up trying to figure out how she managed to be so awesome and just worked on getting her as turned on as he was. 

Clint deepened the kiss, his tongue diving into her mouth, licking along her tongue. He slid one hand down to tease at her clit, his other hand cupping her ass and keeping her pressed close. She curled one arm around his neck, her other hand sliding down his chest, lightly flicking his nipple. He groaned, then gasped as she wrapped that hand around his cock. She broke the kiss and chuckled. 

The steam had dampened her hair, and Clint pushed one of the damp strands away from her face. Her face softened, and she kissed him again. Then she wrapped both arms around his neck. He cupped her ass and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She was so wet, so hot. He rubbed against her, and she moaned into his ear softly. 

Clint thrust home hard, and Tasha gasped. He fucked her briefly, watching the droplets from the shower gather on her hair, turning it darker. She tilted her head back, eyes closed in pleasure. 

“You gonna come for me, Tash?” Clint said huskily. She moaned. “That’s right, baby,” he murmured. “I want to hear you, feel you as you explode on me.”

“Fuck me,” Natasha said, opening her eyes. They had gone dark with her pleasure, and Clint grinned to see it. “Shut up and fuck me,” she repeated.

Clint turned so she was pinned between him and the wall, and fucked her hard and fast. He knew he wouldn’t last long—but he also knew she wouldn’t either. He was right. She came, clawing into his shoulders and gasping in his ear. He slowed his thrusts, wondering if he could make her come again. 

Tasha squirmed in his grip, moaning. She wanted more, too. Clint adjusted his grip and fucked her with long, deep strokes. He worked his cock around her pussy, trying to find just the right angle. And then she shivered, moaning loudly. He repeated that angle, and she gasped. 

“God, don’t stop. Don’t stop,” she breathed, digging her fingers into his shoulders. She was so hot, he was going to lose it. Clint worked on maintaining just that stroke, over and over and then Tasha was screaming, clinging to him and shuddering, and her pussy was milking him and he couldn’t take it. He fucked her wildly, and then he was coming, shuddering and gasping against her. 

Clint decided that just managing not to fall would be a win. He then added ‘not dropping Tasha’ to that list when she unwrapped her legs from his hips, because she was slick from the water and he wasn’t entirely steady on his feet. Once she was able to stand on her own, he slumped against the wall and slid down to sit on the edge of the tub. 

Tasha laughed at him affectionately and then proceeded to wash her hair. Clint sat and watched her, enjoying the quiet and the warm air. When she finished, he rinsed off, washed strategic areas, and then got out again. 

“I’ll call for more towels,” he said and headed into the cooler outer room. He called for more towels, dried off and put on a pair of boxers and a robe, and then waited. The towels arrived, he delivered them to Tasha, and then he threw himself into bed. He was asleep before Natasha joined him. 


	3. A job.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint does a little recon and secures himself a job.

Clint woke up slowly, blinking in the bright light. He should have closed the drapes, he thought blearily. Glancing at the other side of the bed, he was relieved to find it rumpled. Tasha had terrible insomnia, and he was always relieved when she managed to sleep at all. He pushed himself to the side of the bed, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head. He slowly realized the room was empty, but he could smell coffee. He went in search of the source of that ambrosia.

Clint finally found the coffee in the bathroom. The note Tasha had left next to the coffee made him smile. _“Going to do recon. Coffee is here. Food is downstairs. Don’t forget you’re deaf. –T”_ He wondered how on earth he was supposed to find food as a deaf person in a foreign land, but he figured he’d worry about that after another cup of coffee. Tasha had left him two entire cups, bless her. He drank the first and discovered it was actually good. A test of the second showed it was the same, and he decided Tasha had earned herself something special. He’d figure out what that meant later. 

After the coffee and a shower, Clint headed downstairs warily. He didn’t like the idea of trying to find food without Tasha, but he was hungry. He was wearing his earplugs, so he wouldn’t have to worry about ‘forgetting’ he was deaf. He also had the card that Tasha had written for him, saying that he was deaf and only spoke English. It was a bit embarrassing but better than having someone attack him or call the authorities.

Clint ended up amazed and grateful for Coulson’s prescience. There was a convention for deaf entrepreneurs being held at this hotel this weekend. The staff was more than prepared for the event and were practically fighting over the chance to serve him. He ended up flirting with a cute brunette named Rica who was teaching ASL to some of the attendees. She was tall and slender and Clint wished he’d discussed things with Tasha after Rica made it more than clear she wouldn’t mind helping both of them ‘eat.’ 

Clint also hadn’t realized some of those signs could be quite so...flirty. Rica had an impressive vocabulary.

Clint headed back up to his room and knocked to see if Coulson was in. He figured the guy deserved a thanks for this, but there was no answer. He tried the door: locked. Of course, that wasn’t necessarily what would stop him. But he decided to let Coulson have his privacy for now. 

He waited for the food or Natasha’s return. The food arrived first, and he ate with gusto. It was not the fare he was used to, but it was filling and delicious. He headed back downstairs, sans earplugs, to listen to what people had to say. His ego appreciated some of it; Rica really did think he was hot. But better was the intel. There really was a bar, and the owner really did want more live music. They thought if he could play piano as well as he claimed, he absolutely could have a job. He asked about a singer, and was told the bar owner would have to hear her audition. He ended up agreeing to Rica accompanying him, since he couldn’t figure out how to talk to the bar owner without her or Tasha, and there was still no sign of Tasha.

Rica was eager to help, and Clint continued flirting and chatting with her on the way to the bar. As he’d hoped, she proved a valuable ally. The owner was skeptical of a deaf pianist, but Rica challenged him and eventually the guy was worn down into letting Clint at least play. 

Clint decided to impress. He warmed up with impressive-sounding scales and then went into an old Thelonious Monk song he hoped they’d recognize. It was a personal favorite, and one that usually impressed people. He wasn’t expecting them to let him keep going. “Don’t Blame Me” was not a short song. And yet, no one made a move to stop him. He kept going, finishing with a flourish, and then turned. 

The bar owner spoke rapidly. Rica turned to him, translating into ASL. 

“He says you’re hired, you’ll get paid at the end of the night, and if the singer is as good as you are, she’ll get hired too.” Clint thought it was very cute that she spoke out loud. She had an endearing accent. 

He signed in return. _Tell him thanks and that we’ll be here at 9pm sharp._ Rica apparently translated, because Clint couldn’t understand a word. The owner walked off, and Clint and Rica headed back to the hotel. He extricated himself from Rica and headed upstairs to find Tasha or Coulson. He entered the room he shared with Tash, and found the door between rooms wide open. 

“Clint?”

“Yeah, Coulson, what’s up?” Clint walked to the open doorway, a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

“Complication,” Coulson said in his usual deadpan and succinct way. “One big, brotherly complication.”

“What?”

“A man resembling a certain Barney Barton was spotted in the area yesterday. Tasha’s gone to do some recon.” Coulson looked entirely too calm for Clint, given that Clint felt like his entire stomach just hit the floor. 

“Barney? Here?” Clint was momentarily speechless before the rage took over. How the fuck could his brother be here? Why the fuck was his brother here? And when could he make his brother _not here_ anymore?

Coulson nodded. “So I was told. I sent Tasha to confirm, since she’s less likely to go off script.”

“No, no, no. I need to find him if he’s actually here—”

“No, you don’t, Agent Barton. You need to continue your work setting up cover. You need to find another place for you and Tasha to stay, because I won’t be here after tomorrow,” Coulson glared him down in a way he hadn’t expected. Clearly, he’d underestimated the other agent. He revised his opinion of Coulson as he looked away.

“Well, I need Tasha’s help with that. I don’t speak Hungarian. I’m the muscle, dammit. Tasha is the brains.”

“Improvise,” Coulson said implacably. “Because you won’t have a place to stay if you don’t.”

Clint snarled, but he also got the glimmerings of an idea. “Fine. But I **will** have a report once she gets back, and if it really is Barney I owe him, and nothing you say will stop me from paying his ass back.”

“As long as you get the job done, I don’t care what you do in your free time.”

Clint snorted, but he also closed the door. He had work to do if he was going to get a new place to stay, check up on Tasha, and get back to the bar by 8pm—with or without her. 

God, he hated improvising sometimes.


	4. Setting up cover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint goes hunting, and later finds out what they're really after.

The man who walked out of the suite a few hours later didn’t look like the man who had checked in. His hair was spikey and looked blond and he swaggered quite arrogantly. He was wearing a fancy grey suit, a very expensive watch, and sunglasses. Clint had asked Coulson to call downstairs and secure him transportation with a driver who spoke English. He had also found a small house nearby that would be perfect for he and Tasha. He’d burned a few favors among his international contacts, but it would be worth it if he could to secure it for them. Then, he was going to find out what the fuck Barney might be doing here. He’d called in several favors on that, too, but he didn’t regret it. He might, if none of his leads paid off. For now, though, he was going to go Big. He hoped he didn’t end up going home.

Coulson’s driver was perfect. The car was sleek, black, and nondescript. Which was actually far more expensive than the flashy things usually used by the dumb rich. Clint knew better, and he was glad he’d grabbed almost all the forints they’d been given. He would probably use a lot of it. 

The house was also perfect. After dropping a few hints about a mystery client and handing over a generous wad of forints, Clint had the house for six months, no questions asked. He took the keys and then called Coulson on the burner phones they were using.

“I got lodging. Move our stuff and let Tasha know,” Clint said. Coulson protested; Clint argued. He finally gave Coulson the address and just said to make sure his things were in his bag. He then tried to call Tasha. Three times. Grumpily, he texted her after the third refusal. _Call me, dammit._ He waited. He was not surprised when she didn’t. But the goodwill she’d earned with the coffee was only going to go so far. He gritted his teeth and sent another text. _Barney is mine._

_We will talk later,_ Tasha texted him in reply. _I promise._

Clint shoved the phone in his pocket, grumpier and determined to find some information. He ordered the driver to head for the Danube. He had planted some seeds, and he was hoping one of them would pay off. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to scout the location from a vehicle. This car was wonderfully anonymous, and the windows were tinted enough to hide him from casual view. He paid attention as they drove through the city, eyeing various locations with a scout’s eye. And then he remembered something that made him want to facepalm at his own obliviousness. He asked the driver to change his destination, and tried to dredge up the full memory. 

Clint had been to the Hotel Gellert once a long time ago, back when he and Barney had still worked together. He knew his brother was fond of the giant building with its odd art deco style. Clint didn’t know why. He found the thing overblown, though he supposed the colors were pretty. The baths were pretty awesome, certainly, but he hadn’t ever known his brother to use them. He couldn’t remember what Barney’s target had been, when he’d first found the Hotel, though. 

Clint had the driver drop him off at the hotel. His hunches about his brother were usually spot on. He paid the driver, tipping him well, and headed into the hotel with his arrogant businessman façade in full force. Clint enjoyed this part of the game, as he bullied an officious twerp into helping him. Or, in this case, assigning another person to help him.

Twenty minutes later, he had a computer in their business center and the harried man who had guided him there was only too happy to escape his snooty presence. He used a trick Tasha had showed him on the computer, and it worked. Once in the hotel system, he looked for aliases he knew his brother had used. Nothing.

Clint’s hunch wasn’t letting up, though. He had a feeling he was close. He scanned the list of occupants again, slower. There it was. Duquesne Plumbing had booked two rooms, for two occupants, checkout today. It was after checkout time, but the hotel wasn’t busy. There was a chance the room hadn’t been cleaned. He rebooted the computer to reset it after erasing all the traces of what he’d done, and headed upstairs to check it out.

After a pause in the maintenance hall to swipe a keycard from an unsuspecting maid, Clint arrived at the room. The ‘do not disturb’ sign was still hanging from the handle, which seemed odd. He slipped inside carefully, pausing to listen, to quiet his breathing, and prepare just in case. He didn’t hear anything, so he warily stepped farther inside. 

The room had clearly been occupied. The bed was rumpled, a trash can beneath the desk was overflowing, and one dresser drawer was still partially open. No people, though, and so Clint got to work. He found a couple receipts in the trash can, one of which was to an automotive repair shop here in Budapest. He folded that one and tucked it into his suit pocket. He’d investigate that more later. Nothing else grabbed him, to his disappointment. He’d hoped for more.

Clint left the room, leaving everything as it was, and headed back down to the hotel. Adopting a superior sneer, he headed to the concierge and demanded a car with a driver who spoke English. Thus fortified, he gave the bar address, and was driven where he needed to be with an hour to spare. 

He walked back to the hotel to ensure he didn’t have any tails, and then headed upstairs. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised to find Tasha and Coulson together. Coulson was drinking something out of a mug. Clint sniffed the air, scenting his beloved beverage in the vicinity. He lifted an eyebrow at Tasha.

“Coffee?”

Tasha sighed deeply, but jerked a finger over her shoulder. Clint spotted the coffee maker and grinned. He pretended to swoon, putting both hands over his heart. It earned a tiny smile from Natasha, and nothing at all from Coulson. 

“Whoever bought this has earned sexual favors,” he said as he headed over, picking up a plain blue coffee mug and pouring a very large cup. He took a long swig, not even caring that it was very hot. Maybe too hot, he thought a moment later. He took another sip anyway. It was that good. 

“Really?” Coulson said dryly. “But you’re not my type.”

Clint hesitated, half-turning so he could see Coulson and Tasha. Nat wasn’t paying attention to him, but Coulson was. He met the other man’s gaze, then smirked and spoke. “Aw, Coulson, you are breaking my heart.”

“You don’t have one,” Phil replied, but Clint spotted crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He was amused. 

“Yes, I do. I keep it in a jar down at the pool hall.” Clint turned and lifted his cup in Phil’s direction. Tasha coughed, and Clint’s smirk turned into a full-blown smile. He knew that cough. She was trying not to laugh. 

“I had no idea you were in the Wicked Witch guild,” the other man said. 

“Wicked Witches are entirely underrated,” Clint replied. 

Phil and Tasha both snorted derisively at that one, and Clint hid his grin with another drink. He agreed with them: honestly, magic users were annoying. But thankfully, SHIELD usually didn’t have to deal. Fury had some contact somewhere. The man knew how to handle everything. It got disturbing, but at least it meant Clint and Tasha weren’t usually fighting over their weight class.

“Coulson, didn’t you tell Nat about the new place?”

“I did. She had been packing before I got back with the coffeemaker.” Coulson jerked a hand towards the bed. “Your stuff is there.” Clint could see his bag on the bed. He made his way over to check it. 

“I’m packed, Clint,” Tasha said, and Clint’s lightheartedness vanished. There was strain in her voice. Something was wrong.

“Well, we should get going, then. We have to be at the bar in an hour.”

“Coulson, call us with news?”

“Of course. I’ll be back in a few days,” the other man said, his attitude completely transformed. The agent was back. Clint was almost disappointed. Phil had been fun. Agent Coulson was a pain in the ass.

Tasha poured the remaining coffee from the carafe into a thermos and set it next to Coulson. The machine and carafe went into a shopping bag, and then Tasha grabbed her pack. Clint finished checking his (it was packed very well), tossed it on one shoulder, and headed for the door. He heard Tasha say something, but it was too soft for him to comprehend. He waited at the door, and then Tasha was there, walking past him.

“Tash.”

“Clint.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked as they headed to the elevators. 

“Later.”

“Barney,” Clint said flatly.

“No. Later.”

“Then tell me about Barney.”

Tasha’s gaze flicked up to his, then she sighed and hit the down arrow. “Barney’s not a problem. And he’s not still here, anyway. He had a doctor appointment, according to my contacts. He went and then he left Buda, on an itinerary heading for Kenya as the final destination. He never arrived in Kenya, but there were like, five flights between here and there. I’ve got people checking them.”

“A doctor appointment?” Clint had barely heard anything after that. Of all the things he could have heard, that wasn’t even on his list. “What the fuck?”

“My contact didn’t have any information on what it was about, but… he saw an oncologist.”

The elevator’s arrival prevented Clint from saying anything, and the other occupants kept he and Tasha silent while they headed out. Finally, they were outside in the bustling city, and Clint shrugged his pack into a more comfortable position. He also realized he didn’t really want to talk about it. If Barney were actually sick, well. That would be something. But more than likely it was a trap, something that would just fuck Clint’s world again. He sighed. 

“Don’t you want to know what kind of oncologist?”

“No.”

“Clint—”

“No, Tash. It’s probably some kind of scam, and I don’t care. I just want to know where he is so I can fucking erase his ass.” Clint paused, thinking that maybe he shouldn’t have been so harsh. But then he pushed the feeling aside. He didn’t care. Barney had tried to kill him. He didn’t owe the fucker anything. “So, what’s got you tied in knots?”

“Fury called for backup. That’s why I was sitting with Coulson. I was trying to get him to let us go, too.”

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me? We—”

“Coulson’s not going either. He’s heading to take care of another agent’s mission, and he wouldn’t tell me anything aside from ‘it’s being handled.’”

“But he knows?” Clint asked. 

“I don’t know,” Tasha said with a shrug. “He wouldn’t tell me. I suspect, but…”

“Coulson’s not even a level seven yet. Why does he get to know what’s up with Fury and not us?”

“We are apparently the only people the agent we’re extricating will trust. Clint.” Tasha stopped in the middle of the street and turned to face him. He braced himself, since this was obviously what was bugging her. “Clint, it’s Bobbi.”

“Oh.” Clint said. Well, today was apparently just the day for fun revelations. “Okay,” he said and started walking. “When did she get cleared for field work?”

“She’s been in the field for years,” Tasha said, a wee bit grumpily. “Just because you almost tanked her career doesn’t mean she didn’t recover.”

“That’s not—I, I didn’t…” Clint grabbed Tasha’s arm, pulling her to face him. “What have you heard? Because obviously you don’t know the whole story, if you think I almost tanked her career.”

“I heard you were her instructor, and you fucked her. That tends to be a bit frowned upon everywhere. But apparently SHIELD blames the woman.”

“The entire fucking world blames the women,” Clint said. Tasha gave him a somehow sarcastic look. Clint huffed. “Yeah, I noticed. But that’s not the point and it’s not what happened. She was a trainee, yeah, but I wasn’t her teacher. I was teaching a marksmanship class, had nothing to do with her.” Clint stopped, looking away. He didn’t want to talk about it, not here, not now. Partly because he didn’t have time to explain everything, but mostly because those were memories he didn’t like to touch. He swallowed hard, thinking of all those months where he’d thought Bobbi actually loved him, where he’d pictured a life with her. She’d been brilliant, ambitious, and he’d thought her warm. He’d been so wrong. 

Clint pushed the memories aside. He realized he was still hanging on to Tasha’s arm, and let go of it as if it were burning him. He turned away, started walking to the house again, tossed his words over his shoulder at Tasha. “She seduced me, then when she was going to get bounced, she accused me of sexual harassment. I almost lost my fucking job, Tasha, and she got promoted. Last I’d heard, she got into a huge mess down in South Africa and she was taken out of the field. That’s why I asked when she’d gotten cleared.” Clint walked faster, the anger at Bobbi and how easily she’d thrown him under the bus bubbling up again. “Guess she came up smelling like a rose again.”

“Coulson said she’s a good agent, and we need to rescue her.” Tasha hurried to catch up with him, and walked beside him in silence, until… “Is he right?”

Clint gritted his teeth, but... “Yeah, she’s a good agent. Ruthless, and she tends to beat answers out of people, but…valuable. Smart. And great at undercover stuff.” That last was laced with sarcasm and bitterness, but it was also true. “She’s a chameleon.” 

Tasha followed him as he turned down the road that the rental was on. And then she spoke, really quietly. “Bobbi. She was before Kiev, wasn’t she?”

Kiev. He flashed back to that moment, the hesitation that had broken everything. Staring at each other in the rain… “Yes,” he replied quietly. 

“Yet you still…” Tasha fell silent as they arrived at the house. Clint unlocked the door, and walked in, then turned around. 

“Yeah, I still chose to offer you your freedom.” Clint shrugged out of his suit coat, dropped his bag on the floor and draped the coat across it. “I didn’t expect Fury to stick us together. Thought I’d turn you over to him and he’d find a use for you that would let you out of your box. But Fury’s always a dozen steps ahead of me. He knew I needed a partner for the desert run, and you were free.” _I didn’t expect you to be everything I was looking for, honest and vulnerable and uncertain unless we were actually in the field. I didn’t expect to trust you, to have you have my back in a way no one ever had. I didn’t expect..._ Clint spread his hands, backed up a few steps into the wide-open living room. He turned away from her, walked around the room. The room was dark; the sun had finally set. The windows painted odd shadows on the floor as Clint paced. “I got burned, Tasha, and burned badly. But Bobbi was a long time ago. And you’re not Bobbi.”

“No.” Tasha put her bag on the coffee table. “You kept your job, how’d you manage it?”

“I went to Fury, spilled my guts. Fury said he’d talk to some people for me. I got demoted, got sent to a shit job in Australia, then a shittier job in Brazil, and then got assigned as one of Fury’s team. I’ve been his ever since.” Clint leaned against the wall next to the fireplace. “And we need to get going. The bartender is expecting us at 9.”

“Clint. You okay with this? Really?”

Clint pushed off the wall and walked over to Tasha, putting his hands on her shoulders, then sliding them to her upper arms. “No. I wish they’d sent anyone but me. But I know why Bobbi wants me to get her clear, and I won’t leave anyone behind.”

“Why does she want you?”

“Because I’m her white picket fence.”

“No, you’re not,” Tasha said, and kissed him hard, her hands sliding into his hair and mussing the spikey ‘do.

Clint smiled when she finally let him up for air. “Not really, and I never will be again. But she knows me, and I know her. I don’t need a fancy extraction plan to get her clear. I can wing it and she knows how to riff off me. And I’m betting that’s what she needs.”

“I’ll follow your lead, then,” Tasha said quietly.

“Did they tell you anything about what’s she’s in?” Clint said, heading down the hall to the bathroom to get the yellow out of his hair. He unbuttoned his dress shirt as he walked, then hung it on the door.

“There’s a report, Clint.” Tasha replied as she followed him. “You didn’t read it.” Clint didn’t bother answering as he turned on the tub’s faucet and started warming the water up. After a brief moment, Tasha sighed and spoke again. “She’s infiltrated some lab, doing work for a scientist that has ties to Reinhardt.”

Clint ducked his head under the tub’s faucet, rinsing the yellow dye out of his hair. “Got a name?”

“Monica Rappacini.”

Clint paused, then scrubbed his hair harder, checking that the water rinsed clear before standing up and running a towel over his head. That was one heck of a bombshell. “Monica. Huh. Well, that could also explain why Bobbi wanted me.”

“Oh?” Tasha had pulled his shirt off the door and was holding it out of the bathroom to keep Clint from spraying water on it as he dried his hair. 

“Bobbi came to me with some research on AIM, back when they were still just a somewhat shady company.”

“Before MODOK?”

“Yeah. She thought he was a danger, wanted to warn someone. I tried, but there were a lot of other things going on at the same time. And Fury’s always been more worried about Hydra.”

“Because Hydra wants to take over the world.”

“So does AIM,” Clint replied wryly. “Why, I’ll never understand. But whatever. MODOK was creepy as fuck, and Bobbi was fascinated by him and everything around him. He was dating Monica back then.”

“So who is she?”

“She is trouble. Bigtime trouble.” Clint tossed the towel on the sink and held out a hand for his shirt. Tasha handed it over. “She’s fucking brilliant, ruthless, and she enjoys killing.” Clint put it on, started buttoning it up. “If she’s involved, we need to call it in. Fury wouldn’t have been expecting this—”

“Fury’s out of pocket. And so is Coulson. We’re on our own for the next few.”

“Well, fuck.”

“We haven’t made contact yet. We still have to set up our cover.”

“Right. Let’s get to the bar, and get that started.” Clint walked back into the living room and shrugged into his suitcoat. “They liked me, we just need them to like you.”

“What should I sing?”

“I played Thelonious Monk, so you could do one of his songs.”

“Hmm. I dunno. Maybe we should show range? So, they get a second look at how awesome you are and see me.” Tasha grabbed her bag and headed back to the bathroom. Clint stayed in the hallway when she closed the door, waiting quietly despite his impatience. “I could do ‘Diamonds,’” she said through the door. 

“That’s a good song. Good range for you, too.” Clint went over how he’d have to play, thinking about it. He heard the sink turn on. “You want perky or sultry?”

“Sultry, of course,” Tasha replied. The sink noise vanished, and she opened the door. “I mean, look at this dress. It screams for sultry.” He stared, speechless. Clint loved and hated that she could do that to him, because one look at her in that peacock blue number… She looked like an exotic flower. Deadly but beautiful. He finally managed a nod. Tasha smiled smugly. 

“Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, slow and sultry. Yeah,” he half-stammared as she grinned up at him. “That’ll work.”

They headed to the bar, and arrived a few minutes later than Clint had said they would. But, given the crowd, he didn’t think the owner cared. Word had spread that there was going to be piano, and the entire joint was packed. The rumbling of speech surrounded them as Tasha spoke to the owner. Clint got the feeling that the conversation was going well, and then he got confirmation as Tasha signed to him that he should go warm up at the piano.

Clint headed to the stage, wondering what Tasha was up to. He had the strong feeling she was working an angle. Still, she could do it, and he trusted her to. He was hampered by the cover and his lack of the language. He sat down at the piano, ran through a few scales, and then Tasha was there. She lifted her microphone, the lights went down, and the spotlight hit her. Clint started playing.

Clint had played music since he’d been a kid, though he’d learned how to play on a shitty old carnival calliope and a godawful guitar that often only had five good strings. Still, his teachers had good ears. While he’d learned better techniques over the years, the music basics they’d taught him were solid. Sometimes, rarely, he had played with someone who was good, good enough to push him. From that rarity, he had learned low expectations. 

Nothing could have prepared Clint for Tasha singing on stage.

They’d practiced together, of course. He knew she was good. From the practice, he’d thought she had a solid voice: good on the low range, mezzo-soprano/alto, but excellent tone. Her musicality was also solid. He had been looking forward to playing with her, just because he’d enjoyed her singing and he liked music. He hadn’t thought about her chameleon aspects, her acting, her ability to be whoever was needed in that moment. And how that might translate.

Tasha turned it on. And the spotlight loved her.

Clint was forced to up his game just to keep up. He wrapped himself in his music, playing slow and sultry, letting her be the star. He’d forgotten how much he loved ‘Diamonds,’ and how sexy it was. Tasha made the song hers. When she breathed the last notes, the hush that filled the room was better than any applause. 

Of course, the roar afterwards was welcome. Tasha turned to him with a smile, a real smile, and Clint reveled in it. While the bar was still cheering and calling for an encore, she signed _good morning heartache?_ and Clint nodded. She turned back to the crowd with a brilliant smile, nothing like the soft, quiet smile she’d given him. The owner of the bar had come running through the crowd. He touched Tasha’s elbow and spoke to her quietly while the crowd returned to a murmur behind him. 

Clint could not understand the language even if he could have heard what was being said, so he simply went back to the piano, playing soft instrumental tunes of his own making. When Tasha turned away from the boss, he lifted his eyebrows at her. She shook her head slightly, and then gestured at the piano. He segued into ‘Heartache’ and she smiled. 

The crowd quieted almost immediately upon hearing his louder music. Tasha sang ‘Heartache,’ then took a break while Clint played a few instrumentals quietly. She returned and sang two more Holiday songs, then they did a jazz version of a couple more modern songs, just playing around. They ended with a haunting version of “Gravedigger,” which generated such a roar after they finished that Clint could feel the floor vibrating. 

_Well, I think we have a job,_ Clint signed to Tasha. She was beaming, proud and happy. She nodded, then touched his arm with a ‘wait’ in her eyes. He swung his legs out from beneath the piano, but stayed there while she squeezed through the crowd for some unknown purpose. One of the wait staff came over with a tray, and gestured to him, clearly trying to convey the drink was his. Clint took the drink, lifting it and gesturing his thanks. The other person hurried off as soon as he’d taken the drink.

Clint didn’t usually like to drink unless coffee was involved, but this was a kindness and he wasn’t one to turn his nose up at that. He tasted it, and it was smooth and smoky with a nice kick. He was impressed; they’d given him the good stuff. He took another sip, appreciating the fine flavor, and then Tasha reappeared. 

_I got us billing. Hopefully, word will get out,_ she signed.

_Good job. Are we done here?_

_For tonight. We’re to come back tomorrow at 9. He wants us to work for 2 hours._

_Well, that’ll be fun. Do we need to rehearse?_

Tasha shrugged. _Let’s work on songs and music, see what we need._

Clint agreed, finished his drink, and then he and Tasha moved slowly to the door. They were stopped more than once for patrons to gush over how much they enjoyed the music. Tasha translated a few particularly amusing stories, and was charming and friendly to everyone. Clint enjoyed watching her work. He was also surprised he didn’t have to fend off any assholes trying to grope Tasha. Pleased, but surprised. 

They made their way out the door, heading back to the house. Clint couldn’t have pointed to any one thing, but he was abruptly hyperalert. He glanced at Tasha, and whatever had set him off had also hit her. He signed subtly, using abridged SHIELD signs rather than ASL.

_Followed?_

_Unsure. Be drunker,_ Tasha answered. 

Clint nodded and then laughed really loud, pretend-leaning on Tasha as he did so. He scanned the nearby buildings as he faked stumbling, but did not see anything. They headed ‘drunkenly’ past the house and towards the hotel. The feeling vanished as they reached the hotel. Clint turned to Tasha with a frown.

_Gone?_

_Gone,_ she agreed, scanning the area. 

“I’d rather be paranoid than dead,” Clint muttered. “But I hate that.”

“Me too. Let’s go home anyway,” Tasha agreed. They headed back to the house, and both checked the perimeter carefully before settling in for sleep. One of the things that Clint had particularly liked was that one of the bedrooms only had one entrance. It was designed as a closet, but Clint didn’t care. He moved things around, set up a few early warning systems, and then he went to bed. He hoped Tasha would join him, but he let her decompress in her own way.


	5. It's always complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Tasha settle in for longer than they expected, but then Bobbi finally appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: m/f sex with light kink, implied domestic violence

The next morning, Clint checked the other side of the bed, as he always did. It was rumpled, but empty. Good. He sighed and pushed himself upright, blearily heading downstairs to the kitchen. Tasha was sitting at the table, a notebook on the table in front of her, and crumpled paper strewn around her.

Clint grunted a good morning as he headed to the coffee maker, which was emanating a glorious scent that almost woke him up. He poured a cup (versus drinking straight from the carafe, which he’d done more than once). He knew Tasha might want more and she wouldn’t appreciate it if he gulped directly from the source. He took a deep inhale with the cup up beneath his nose, and then drank nearly all of that first cup in one swallow. He poured more, topping off his cup, and then looked over at Tasha. She was watching him with a small smile on her face. 

“What?” Clint asked, wondering if his hair was sticking up or something. He ran a hand over it, mussing it while trying in vain to smooth it down.

Tasha shook her head, still smiling. “Just working out what songs for tonight.”

Clint frowned, but he was still sleepy and decided not to press. “Ideas?”

“The usual.” Tasha consulted her papers. “I am up to ten. Which, if I’ve done my math right, is approximately three-quarters of what I need. Definitely more than half.” She pushed the papers to Clint. He glanced through them, nodding. 

“Oh, good one,” Clint murmured. “I’ll need to look up the music for ‘Come away with me,’ but I love that song.” Tasha started to protest that she could change, but Clint cut her off. “I’d been meaning to learn it anyway, Tash. It’s fine.” He read the rest of the list, and nodded. “Nice mix so far of old and new stuff,” Clint murmured. “You just want to do jazz?”

“Well, it’s not like we have a whole band. We can probably do some other stuff, though. What are you thinking?”

“One angry dwarf,” Clint replied with a grin. “It’s jazzy!”

“Clint,” Tasha said in a warning tone, but she was smiling. Clint knew better than to take her bluster seriously. 

“Come on, it’s so fun,” Clint said. “The crowd will love it.”

Tasha shook her head, but she chuckled. Clint had a feeling she liked the idea. “That song is wrong,” she said. 

“But it’s fun. And silly. Isn’t it fun to sing?”

Tasha chuckled. “I guess. We can try it once, to see if the crowd likes it. What else ya got?”

“You have a lot of things I was thinking,” Clint said. “I was going to suggest ‘Fallin’’ but you have ‘Come Away,’ so that might be redundant.”

Tasha shrugged. “I like it, too, though, and my list is more heavy on the oldies,” she allowed, writing it down along with “one angry dwarf.” And then Clint sat down so they could really work it out. They tossed ideas back and forth, and finally ended with a list of 18 songs. Of course, settling on the songs was just the first part. Clint and Tasha then had to arrange them for a nice rise and fall, emotionally. Still, after a bit of discussion, they agreed on a set list. They came up with a potential 3 more songs for encores and to switch things up as needed. While Tasha printed him out music for the songs he wasn’t sure he knew, Clint refreshed his memory on some good, long instrumental pieces for between her sets. 

Thus fortified, they embarked on a several-weeks long engagement at this bar. (“One Angry Dwarf” became a crowd favorite, to Clint’s delight.) He had expected Bobbi to contact them quickly. But for those first few weeks, there was only silence. Coulson contacted them that there was trouble elsewhere, stating that he was going to be nearby but working his own thing. Then Fury was back, but he was also working on a separate mission. Clint still insisted on a face-to-face, to advise Fury about the Monica Rappaccini angle. Clint knew she was bad news and he wanted to talk to the other man about it. 

Fury agreed to a meeting at a nice little coffee shop with an outdoor seating area. It was cool enough to be comfortable, and yet they were the only ones sitting outside. That was likely due to the time. It was post-lunch rush, but early for dinner. Definitely not ‘coffee time.’ Clint sipped his coffee, wondered why the stuff back in the US was so shitty, and gave a quick and dirty report to Fury. He mentioned how he was worried about Rapaccini gaining power in AIM, and how he hoped Bobbi would have good news there. The other man listened in silence, sipped his coffee, and absorbed the news with the same unflappable calm he always seemed to have. Clint also (eventually) confessed his frustration at having to rescue Bobbi, of all people. Fury almost cracked a smile at that. 

“Barton, you know I’d send anyone else if I could. But at this point, even if I wanted to send someone else, I don’t have anyone _I_ would trust here right now. Even if Bobbi would.” Fury scanned the patio they were sitting on cautiously. “Unrelated, I have a task for you.”

“Sir?” Barton was only rarely respectful, but when Fury said things like that, it paid to be polite. 

“Clint.” Fury turned to look directly into the other man’s eyes. Clint felt the weight of it, and leaned in. Fury spoke again, quietly. “You know Hydra has agents in SHIELD.”

“I believe so,” Clint said warily. “I mean, that’s what they do, sir.” He was disappointed in the other man’s single-mindedness, but he also understood it. SHIELD was Fury’s baby. Still, this was basic stuff. Why was Fury being so… Warily, he spoke again. “They infiltrate and destroy.”

“And that’s what they’ve been doing.” 

“Are we in trouble?”

“No,” Fury said. “Not yet. But I think things are stacking that way. This rash of problems…” Fury shook his head. “When you get Bobbi out, I need you to do something for me. Without telling anyone. Not even Natasha.”

“Fury. Sir.” Clint protested. “Nat—”

“Was a Russian agent for a long time, Barton.”

“And she’s not, now.”

“Thanks to you.” Fury tapped the table with his index finger, then pointed at Clint. “You. Not me.”

“You said she was solid.”

“She’s solid, Barton. But she believes in you, not me.” Clint opened and closed his mouth, trying to decide what to say. He must’ve looked like a fish. He finally closed his mouth, nodding once, but before he could speak, Fury spoke again. “Don’t mistake me, I think she’s going to be one of the best. But right now, if I’m trusting my life to someone, I’d rather it be you.”

“Sir, who should I trust? If I can’t trust Natasha, I mean.”

“I don’t know, Barton, who else do you trust?”

Clint snorted softly, then looked away. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“You’re telling me,” Fury agreed. “Though, if you’re asking about Coulson, I think he’s solid, too.”

Clint nodded. He believed Coulson was solid, too, but that didn’t mean he’d trust the other man with Fury’s life. Because if Fury was talking like that, it was life-and-death. “You haven’t told me what you want me to do,” he finally said.

“I’ll let you know once you don’t have a mission on your plate. Focus on your job, first, Clint. Get Bobbi out safely. I’m very certain that she’ll have information relevant to your other worries, about Monica and AIM.”

“Got it,” Clint said. “One thing at a time, for now?”

“Exactly. Good man.”

The praise warmed Clint, even if it was unearned. Fury gave him a little more information about what Bobbi was into, and Clint listened and worried a little. Bobbi was tough, but this kind of covert stuff could be rough, and she’d been at it for a while. He hoped she’d be able to sabotage the lab before she left, too. After Fury fell silent, the two men finished their coffee. Fury left first, wishing Clint luck. Clint returned to the house with a lot to think about. He walked in, took off his suit coat and then flung himself on the couch across from Tasha. He stared out the window across from the couch and scrubbed a hand down his face.

Natasha took a long look at him and laughed. “Fury has that impact on a lot of people,” she said. “Whatever he said, trust me, he has forty other plans if that one doesn’t work out.”

“How do you know?” Clint asked as he pulled off his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt. Men in suits were so ubiquitous, it was a form of camouflage. But Clint still hated them. He tossed the tie on top of the suit coat and kicked his shoes off, and felt almost normal again. 

“My old boss was a lot like him,” she replied quietly. 

“Really?”

“Always a dozen steps ahead, always seeing shadows everywhere.” Tasha gazed off in the distance, then blinked and glanced back at him with a soft smile. “Yeah. I guess there’s a type to leading a shadowy organization.”

“I don’t think Fury sees shadows,” Clint said. “I think he sees clearly. There’s just a lot of bad out there.”

“And it’s your job to stop it?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Clint laughed. “God, I sound like an idiot, don’t I?”

“No,” Tasha said quietly. “You sound like a hero.”

Clint didn’t know what to say to that. He started to try, saying her name softly, but she crawled across the couch climbed into his lap. She looked so incredibly sexy he could not have moved or spoken to save his life. She curled her fingers around the back of his neck, and he shivered. And then she kissed him, and he wasn’t shivering anymore. He was too busy kissing her, soft at first, matching her as she explored his mouth and pressed tightly against him. He caressed her waist, sliding his hands up to cup her breasts, thumbs teasing at her nipples.

Soon, though, their kisses grew frantic. They clutched at each other, Tasha grinding against him, making him so hard. Clint lifted her shirt so he could caress her skin and cup her breasts. Kissing her like she was air, while she stripped his shirt off so that she could press her skin to his. He wrapped his arms around her and stood, one hand around her waist, the other cupping her ass. She wrapped her legs around him and kissed him even deeper. 

Clint carried her to their shared bedroom, pausing in the hallway when Tasha pulled her shirt the rest of the way off. She dropped it, then her bra followed. Clint growled when she licked his ear, nipped his lobe. And then they were in the bed, Clint on top, grinding against her heat. He kissed her, then crawled down her body, kissing her neck, her breasts, licking and sucking her nipples, and then pulling her pants down. He fumbled with his own pants, kicking them off and then crawling back up her body to kiss her again. 

Tasha wrapped her legs around him, grinding herself against him shamelessly. “Fuck me, Clint,” she begged. “Fuck me hard!”

Clint loved when she let go like that and he wanted her so bad. He slid his hard cock into her and then had to grit his teeth for control. Natasha was hot, wet, and she ground against him hard. Then she was coming, moaning and shuddering beneath him. He fought through it, focusing on her: her face, her voice, her skin. She trembled with aftershocks when he pulled back and then started fucking her hard and fast. 

Clint listened to her pleading, mixing up her languages. He understood ‘faster,’ and ‘harder,’ though, and did his best by her. Natasha clawed his back, trying to pull him closer. She thrust back against him, demanding more. He started to realize what the problem was, and smirked.

“You want more, Tasha?” Clint asked, sliding his hands down her body as he knelt back between her legs. He pulled out, hands on her hips to hold her still. Tasha was glaring at him, her hair mussed, her lips swollen from his kisses. 

“Why did—”

“On your knees,” Clint ordered, his voice a whip. He saw it hit Natasha, saw her process it. She bit her lip and then nodded. She rolled over and got on her knees. Clint knelt up, slid his hand up into her hair, then fisted it and pulled her head back. “You want to come again, little girl?”

“Yes,” Tasha whispered. Her eyes were glazed, her face softened. 

Clint slid his cock back into her pussy, fucking her slow. “How bad do you want it?”

“Please,” Tasha moaned, trying to make him speed up. Clint slapped her ass, then gripped her hips to keep her still. 

“You have to do better than that,” Clint said, using her hair again to pull her half-upright. He pinched her nipples with his other hand, teasing at first and then harder, making her moan and squirm against him. 

“Yes. Yes, please,” she begged again. “Please fuck me.”

Clint let go of her hair, then started fucking her hard, fast, and deep. He knew what she wanted and he gave her everything. He slammed into her, again and again, until she screamed her pleasure into the bed, shuddering against him. Then he finally cut loose, fucking her until he came hard. He collapsed against her back, panting. 

“Mmm,” Tasha mumbled as she stretched out beneath him. Clint shifted so he could cuddle her.

“Mmmhmm,” he agreed. 

“We have to go to work soon,” Tasha mumbled, but she shifted closer to him, inviting cuddles. 

“Uh huh,” Clint agreed, wrapping himself around her. He adjusted his face so it wasn’t in her hair, and then sighed. Tasha caressed his cheek and then snuggled against him. She was warm, and Clint was tired. The next thing he was aware of was Tasha slapping his butt. His bare butt. Wait…he usually slept in clothes. What was going on. He blearily tried to figure out what day it was, as Tasha shook his shoulder. 

“Get up, you need to shower so we can go to work,” she said. Clint rolled away from her, curling around the pillow. Then he smelled coffee. He rolled back, looking around. “You have to get your own,” Tasha said. She was holding a mug. As soon as she saw he was aware, she took a drink, smirked at him, and vanished out the door. 

Clint grumbled, but he sat up. Naps were definitely overrated. He felt like moldy cheese. And not the good kind. Still, Tasha was right: they had work and he needed to get ready. 

Twenty minutes later, Clint was showered and dressed and felt awake enough to actually enjoy his coffee. Tasha was still putting the finishing touches on her makeup. Clint was glad she was in the bathroom doing it, because he couldn’t stop staring. The silver gown had a red silk lining and every time she moved, the skirt swirled and that hint of red showed. She looked amazing.

Clint was expecting another quiet night, but as soon as they arrived they were mobbed. Some of the people were regulars who just wanted to request a song, or chat about music. Tasha dealt with them as usual. But Clint also spotted Bobbi in the mob, and was at once relieved and worried. She was alive, that was great; she looked awful, and that was not. Clint studied her, more and more convinced that the hair hanging in her face was hiding something. Something he was not going to like. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and composed himself. 

Clint caught Bobbi’s eye and tapped one ear, then headed to the piano. This was his nightly ritual. He was counting on Bobbi being smart enough to figure out what it meant. He started his warm up music, letting scales slip into soft instrumentals. And then Bobbi walked into his eyeline and signed.

_Hey. So, you’re here._

Clint stopped playing and turned to her, putting an inquisitive look on his face. _Been here for weeks. You look like shit. Are you okay?_

_My cover story now involves a guy,_ Bobbi signed. _He’s not a nice person._

_So, what do you need for extraction?_

_Complete destruction of the place I’m staying after we get all my documentation and the proof out. Me getting away from here far and fast. And yeah, you can kill the asshole if you want. Or make it so I can._

At that last, Bobbi shook the hair out of her face, and Clint took in the shiner and bloodied lip. He knew it was likely a sympathy ploy, but it still made him angry. Clint kept his face impassive, though. He considered what she was asking, and then nodded. _Okay. We’ll arrange it and be on alert. Where are you staying?_

_Not yet. I’ll come back when I can. Just prepare, and we’ll talk more next time._

Bobbi melted into the crowd. Clint returned to his scales, wondering what the fuck she was dealing with. He was glad he had plenty of practice with all the songs Tasha particularly liked. Because tonight? He was not at his best.


End file.
